


Black Card

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerwin puts the Win in Aerwin, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Goth Club, Implied Boltwin, M/M, what is this I don't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roose Bolton sends Tywin to a goth club to make a fool of him.  Tywin aims to get out of the strange place as quickly as possible.  Instead, he heads to the bar for a drink served by a frustratingly enticing bartender...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Card

**Author's Note:**

> This is a total half-assed crackfic I wrote for myself on my tumblr. Takes place in a universe where Boltwin is a thing. I cleaned it up a tiny bit for AO3 but really it's basically straight-up unadulterated weirdness from my brain. Light some candles, put on your old Sisters of Mercy CD, and enjoy~

Tywin hates to be tricked, especially by Roose, goddamn it.  He’s fucking fuming in this club full of weirdos (and he’s dressed totally wrong which makes him uncomfortable even though it ought not to).  He decides to leave but  _damn_ he’s so irritated he may as well get a drink first even though the bar will surely be overpriced.

The bartender is off-putting looking—with his pale skin, violet eyes and long silvery hair, he technically looks as manufactured-weird as the other freaks in the place, but somehow Tywin can tell that it’s all the real deal.  Grudgingly he admits the bartender is attractive.  Damn Roose, he’d really be laughing now if he knew.  (He might even quietly suggest Tywin is somewhat of a slut for cock.  It’s all fucking embarrassing, it is.)  

The bartender smirks at Tywin’s outfit and that’s all it takes for Tywin to change his plan.  To hell with  _leaving;_ he’s going to prove something to this smug bartender.  Tywin Lannister does not get smirked at.  He commands respect even if he's standing in nothing but one sock.

"Give me the strongest thing you’ve got."

The bartender raises an eyebrow.  "Did you get a little lost looking for the VIP lounge?”

Tywin slaps his black card and a $50 bill down on the countertop.  The bartender appears unflappable, but he runs his fingernails along the edges of the credit card (Tywin notices with a jolt that the nails are long, too long, somewhere in the uncanny valley between human fingernails and talons? claws? and painted gold) somewhat admiringly. 

"When I say something, people do it," Tywin says.  "Make me a drink.  If I’m impressed, that $50 is yours."

The bartender holds the bill in his teeth, takes an awkward grip on it, and tears it in half.  Tywin cannot say he was expecting this.

"Do I look like a whore to you?" the bartender says, and winks.

"All humans are whores for one thing or another."  Tywin chooses to ignore the wink.  He’s flustered.  How does Roose always get him into these situations that  _fluster_  him?  Tywin is supposed to be calm and unshakable. 

The bartender  _hmms_ and cocks his head.  "I've never had a businessman come in here and try to get philosophical with me.”

"My philosophies are sound.  Perhaps if you lived by similar philosophies you’d be working a respectable job instead of bartending in a club full of idiots in costumes."

The bartender snorts.  "My  _philosophies_ are getting me exactly where I want to be, thanks.”  He turns to the row of bottles behind him.  "I'll get you a drink.  You must be dying to put that black card to use.”

Tywin watches as the man mixes gin with something in a seductively glowing green bottle that must be absinthe, because these goth types will do just anything to stay true to stereotype, won’t they?  To Tywin’s horror, he dips his pinky nail into the drink and stirs it lovingly, staring right into Tywin’s eyes the whole time.  Tywin wouldn’t even dream of flinching at the obvious challenge, but obviously he’s loath to drink the thing now.  It’s tainted.

The bartender nudges the glass toward Tywin and licks his nail off.

"Perfect," he says.  "Give it a try."

Tywin takes a sip and it is  _strong._ It’s an altogether different experience than Roose’s hippocras.

"I'm available for private functions of all sorts," the man says as Tywin swallows.  "Particularly if they're classy affairs in sex dungeons with lots of pretty girls.  I bet you’re the kind of creep who’s into that kind of thing."  He stage-whispers over the pulsing bass and shrill synths of the current song: "So am I!" and pulls a business card out of his pocket.

The card is a matte black with a silver dragon at the top, its wings arcing around the words

_Aerys Targaryen_

_the second of his name_ —Tywin thinks two things at once, suddenly: one, that “second of his name” is the most pretentious thing he’s ever seen, and two, that this person is actually—

Tywin’s eyebrows have nearly shot through the roof.  "But that means you’re—”

"I've noticed my name’s familiar to people in certain circles," says Aerys Targaryen, the second of his name.  Tywin's already getting familiar with that  _smirk_ and the way it plays across the man's high cheekbones.

"Our fathers were business associates," Tywin stutters.  "I’m Tywin.  Tytos Lannister’s son."  Bringing up his father is always humiliating and Tywin generally chooses to avoid it, but he’s already been embarrassed enough tonight, and if Roose is behind all of this, it will only get worse.

"Oh, _Tytos Lannister,_ " Aerys says almost fondly.  "My father was very nice to him…of course, then he’d come home and talk shit for hours.  My sister and I had certain stories memorized.  Like that one where he got audited by—"

"I knew Jaehaerys had a son, but I never got to meet him," Tywin interrupts loudly.  He takes another sip of the shimmering drink.  It almost  _undulates._

"Well, I've been virtually disowned," Aerys says.  "When I was 18, Father decided he wanted nothing to do with me.  That was really fine with me...Now I live a life almost entirely free of familial obligations."  His smile is so…gleeful, Tywin supposes, that it actually makes Tywin smile too.  "I'm free."

"I have a large family myself," Tywin attempts.  "I can’t imagine finding their company a burden.  Your father seemed like a kind man, if I’m remembering correctly."   _Th_ _ough not so kind to my own father, apparently._

Aerys laughs and pours something boozey into a large goblet he’s pulled out from under the counter.  "I wasn’t trying to find out your family history, Tywin.  I meant that my shift ends when the club closes at 2, and then I’m free.”

"Am I supposed to congratulate you?" Tywin asks.  "Most of the world is free at 2 am."

Aerys fishes a very fancy lighter out of his pocket and sets the liquid in the cup on fire.  He holds the palm of his hand—over the flame?  in the flame?  It must be  _over_  the flame.  The goth cocktail is affecting Tywin’s sensibilities.

The light in the place makes the purple eyes before him look dangerous, but Tywin likes to think of himself as a conqueror of dangers.  Plus, Aerys is staring at his face without saying another word and the scrutiny has given him an erection, just as it always does with Roose.  Has he developed some sort of fetish for freakish eyes examining him?  Fucking great, that is.  Exactly what he’s always needed.

"I’m going to stick your nice black card behind the bar," Aerys finally says.  "I have a feeling you’re going to decide to open up a tab."

"And what about the tip?" Tywin asks, shaking his golden waves of hair off his shoulders.  He has a majestic jawline; he’s leonine and dignified and he ought to show it all off.  "That was all the cash I had, that $50 you demolished."

"You’re creative and practical, you’re a _La_ _nnister_ ,” Aerys says.  ”You’ll figure something out.”

But it turns out Tywin never will remember whose idea it was.  All he knows is that suddenly it is four in the morning and he’s sprawled legs-splayed in a cushy armchair in a suite at his preferred five-star hotel.  There’s a silvery head bobbing between his legs sucking his dick in a way that’s frantic and punctuated by the staccato of teeth scraping against the flesh there and a tongue that knows just how and where to swirl and lick.  The room is ablaze in a heated, pinkish glow (“We have a special request,” Tywin had slurred, slapping the black card down at the front desk.  "Yes, fill the room with candles, please, and light them, I want them  _lit_ ,” Aerys had added, seemingly unable to stop grabbing Tywin’s ass) and Tywin can’t help but think this is one of the best things Roose has ever done for him.

"It’s too bad our fathers didn’t introduce us when we were younger," Aerys says, taking his mouth off of Tywin’s cock but replacing it with his finger, sliding it softly up and down his spit-slick erection.  "We could have been doing this a long time ago."

"Shut up and get back to work," Tywin says, pushing Aerys’s head back where it belongs.  "It is not in my philosophy to regret things that could have been, but you’re about to make me start."


End file.
